16. What’s a Little Bloodletting Between Friends?
What’s a Little Bloodletting Between Friends?
An incessant noise pulls me from sleep, and I automatically reach over to grasp the empty sheet instead of the warm male body I expect to touch. I’m disoriented, both from finding myself alone and the noise that’s coming from somewhere near me.
I rip the sleep mask from my eyes to find myself wrapped in darkness.
It’s not my alarm telling me it’s morning, my micro still on silent, no incoming holo or flicker.
I always set it to sleep mode, but there are exceptions- any communication from Ruby, Tim, the Captain, or dispatch will come through no matter the hour.
Tapping my microchip to wake it up, I keep my feeds off my contacts but flick on my bedroom holo-lights. It’s four am, and my doorbell is buzzing. I have alerts to it in most rooms of my two-story brownstone, which is why I assumed it was coming from my wrist.
Hauling myself out of bed, I almost fall as my sheets tangle around my legs. Shoving them violently away and pushing my hair off my face, I stumble from my bedroom half-asleep.
Jake and Ruby both have access to my townhouse through the retinal scanner and bio-lock palm print ID. But as my mind kicks into gear, the fight with Jake floods back in. I’m still unsure where it all went so horribly wrong.
After he left, I needed to clear my head, and although the thought of lifting heavy weights until my muscles screamed was appealing, I opted for a run instead.
I’d pounded the pavement for mile after mile, taking one breath, one step, after another, letting the beat of a random playlist wash over and through me, my mind empty of thought.
I’d managed six miles, the cut on my cheek no longer bleeding, but stinging as the wind assaulted it.
After a glass of wine, I’d collapsed into the oblivion of sleep.
So I know it’s not Jake at my door, suddenly desperate to make things right between us. Aside from accidentally marking me, he thinks he’s in the right. Stubborn Alpha male. And Ruby would let me know if she was coming around in the middle of the night.
A neighbor in trouble? I hit the holo-cam feed outside my front door as I hurry down the stairs to the ground floor. I can’t see anything, and I swear as I flick the outside light on as well.
When I see who’s standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night, on the screen in front of my eyes, I almost trip down the last few stairs
I disable the alarm before I click the door open with another blink of my internal screen. Tech is incredibly helpful when you’re half asleep and fumbling.
‘I tried calling you,’ Micah says coolly, holding up a mini-holo device before sliding it into a pocket. I didn’t know he had one.
I don’t have him in my contacts, but even if I did, his holo would have gone straight to storage to view later.
I don’t bother asking where he got my micro details from.
Lila has them. Plus, he’s Micah Saint James.
He can get whatever he wants from anyone and everyone.
The Mayor himself would probably give it to him.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in my bed shorts and cami. They’re decent, but at the flicker of something in his onyx gaze, I suddenly feel exposed.
I may be disheveled, but the Vampire standing with his hands in his pockets is anything but.
I have to remind myself that the night is his domain as I take in his immaculate black pants and shirt.
His shadows hover around him, pulling the porch holo-light into them to partially cast him in darkness.
‘I was sleeping,’ I say unnecessarily, pushing my hair back from my face where it’s fallen forward again. The chill of the air stings the cut on my face where it bisects my cheek, causing me to flinch. It’s no longer bleeding, but I should have gotten stitches. I’ll have a scar when it heals.
Like lightning, Micah’s eyes home in on the laceration. He reaches out and tilts my head to the side, catching the light.
‘Evangeline.’ His voice is deadly calm, eyes fixed firmly on the single claw mark. ‘Who did this to you?’
I push his hand away and swing my hair forward over the cut, stepping back out of reach. He lets me go, but his onyx eyes are glittering, his mouth a tight line as he shoves his hands back into his pockets as if to control himself.
‘It’s nothing. Just a scratch.’ I’m lying, and we both know it.
‘I asked, who did this to you?’ His voice is fire and ice, tight with barely controlled anger.
Like a deer caught in headlights, I can’t look away from his gaze.
I feel a brush against my mental shield, but it goes no further than a warm caress.
He would never pry into my mind without permission, even when I’ve left myself wide open.
I slam down the wall that protects me from Compulsion as a precaution.
Micah takes a step closer, waiting. His shadows ghost over my arms, the lightest caress. Testing, teasing. His face is a bronzed mask, carved from marble.
My nostrils flare as I suck in a breath and harden my resolve. But my heart is pounding so loudly that even I can hear it. And the immortal Vampire standing before me can sense every flutter it makes.
‘It’s none of your business,’ I say defiantly, reminding myself he lost that right when he broke my heart.
‘You are still under my protection, Evangeline,’ Micah says evenly, fangs flashing in the dim light. I go hot and cold at the undertone I could swear is possessive.
My confusion must show across my shadowed face, because he adds, ‘You may have left, but I never rescinded my order of protection over you.’
Is that why the Vamps have left me alone?
Why the Weres have been so deferential, so helpful with cases?
Does Jake know? Is that why he’s so wound up about Micah?
Or at least, part of the reason. How did I not know this?
Shit. How much of my success with the PPS has been because of Micah’s protection?
I don’t have time to think about the implications and ramifications of that right now.
I don’t need to start doubting myself and my abilities.
‘So I will ask you one last time. Who did this to you?’ Micah’s deep, velvet voice is deceptively quiet. But the steel in it shines bright as a newly forged sword.
The breath goes out of me all at once. He already knows the answer, but he wants me to trust him with it. We no longer have that kind of relationship. It’s long dead and buried. But a tiny, treacherous part of me wants it all the same.
‘It was an accident. We fought. Jake never meant to hurt me.’ It’s a terrible excuse, and we both know it. But I’m sure as hell not telling him that he was part of the equation.
‘Has this happened before?’ he demands, and I hear the authority of the Coven leader in his night-filled voice.
‘No! Of course not. It’s this investigation…,’ I trail off. I can feel Micah’s rage roiling below the surface. He’s not even trying to hide it from me.
There is no excuse for Jake almost losing control in front of me. I refused to acknowledge it, choosing to run and drink wine instead, but it could have been so much worse. Micah watches as the realization fills my eyes.
Leaning forward, he places his hands against the door frame on either side of me with deliberation.
My mouth goes bone dry at his sudden nearness.
Wood groans under his hands, and I swallow.
His body is almost against mine, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch the smooth, hard skin exposed by the undone top buttons of his shirt.
It’s so unlike him to react this way. His emotions are always under complete control, his face an unreadable mask, honed over centuries.
He towers over me, blocking out the holo-light above. As his fingers brush gently beside the split in my cheek, his thumb catches on my lower lip, and I have to stop the whimper that tries to escape. What the hell is wrong with me? Micah doesn’t want me, and I refuse to make a fool of myself again.
But I stop breathing as my eyes catch on his.
I’m sure I see naked hunger along with stars swirling.
Suddenly, I can’t think of anything but kissing Micah.
To finally know what it would be like to feel his lips on mine.
Would they be soft, or unyielding? What would his fangs feel like against my tongue?
I’m a fraction of a second from pressing myself against his hard frame.
‘I can heal it,’ his voice jolts me from my thoughts, heat instantly flooding my face.
He’s offering me his blood.
‘So you don’t scar,’ he adds, and relief washes over me at how unsure he sounds. He’s never offered me his blood before. Not even for my cuts and bruises the night he saved me.
To give blood is one of the most intimate things a Vampire can do.
For Vamps, drinking from a human has the same effect as sex, and having a Vamp drink blood can bring a human to climax.
But a Vampire giving blood is an offering, a form of worship, a part of themselves.
It’s a rare gift. Turning someone requires both the giving and taking of blood.
As far as I’m aware, Micah has never offered either before.
I have no words. I can only nod, my heart in my mouth and my soul in my eyes.
Micah rolls up his sleeve, exposing the dark tattoo swirled there. His fangs flash as he bites his wrist, and blood wells, a deep red-black, stark against his bronze skin.
Offering it to me, I place my hand against his cheek fleetingly before taking it.
I bring my mouth down slowly and flick my tongue out.
At the first taste of his blood, I’m undone.
Ecstasy fills my veins as I hold his wrist tighter and drink deep.
Lightning crackles and shoots through me, setting me on fire.
Micah grips my hip and pulls me against him as I drink, tongue and teeth flicking over his skin. I’ve forgotten why I’m even drinking from him. I can’t think of anything but the taste and feel of him on my lips, in my mouth. His other hand cradles the back of my head, encouraging me.
I moan and bite down as blood floods my throat, coating my lips. Micah jerks against me, his hand gripping my hair. I flick my eyes up, and his head is thrown back. He groans, deep and low, as if it’s being torn from the depths of his being.
It’s not enough. I want his fangs in my throat. I want to give him what he’s given me.
Scraping together every inch of self-control I have left, I pull my mouth away and give his wrist one more lick before I let it fall. His other hand has untangled from my hair and is now holding me so close to his body I can feel every inch of how this is affecting him.
I open my mouth to beg him to kiss me when he swipes his thumb against my lips. The blood there gleams in the light, and I flick out my tongue to lick it off, savoring the last drop.
At the back of my mind, I know this is wrong. But I can’t seem to remember why. I look up to see that Micah’s eyes are as glazed as mine.
‘Evangeline.’ It’s a plea, a prayer, a supplication.
My breasts tighten at the way he says my name, and his eyes drop to them. He lets out a harsh breath and steps back, his hand dropping from where it was gripping my bare waist, branding me.
‘It’s the blood,’ Micah tells me, his voice steadier than mine. ‘It’s like foreplay. You did nothing wrong.’ He runs a hand through his midnight hair, his face a tight mask of control once more.
It feels as if ice-cold water has been thrown over me.
Jake.
I have a boyfriend whom I love. And the Vampire in front of me, looking like a fallen angel, a dark god, didn’t want me. This was just bloodlust, nothing more. For either of us.
Micah touches my cheek gently and smiles wryly. ‘All better.’
‘Micah,’ my voice is strained, but the fog is clearing from my lust-fueled mind. ‘Why are you at my house in the middle of the night?’ Because it sure as hell wasn’t to heal my cheek from a cut.
The Vampire goes deathly still, the stars in his eyes dying out.
‘I need you to come with me.’ He takes in my nightwear again. ‘You should get dressed.’
There’s no point in asking him why or where we’re going.
Throwing on jeans and a lavender sweater that clings to my curves and suits my dark hair and green eyes, I run a brush through my hair and leave it loose over my shoulders before pulling on a pair of white and gold street shoes.
A quick look in the mirror shows me smooth, perfect skin where minutes ago was a red, angry gash.
Setting the alarm and locking my house with a swipe of my screen, I keep my feeds off, but allow notifications to scroll on one side. I don’t see anything important, so I ignore them as I look past the Vamp on my doorstep for his car. Micah has his back to me, shoulders tense.
Before I can comment on the lack of transportation, Micah turns around.
Faster than I can blink, I’m in his arms, one beneath my legs, the other cradling my back.
Throwing my arms around his neck for support, his wings flare out, catching the colors of the Skyway as we shoot into the sky, and I swallow my scream.